


Repose

by GillyTweed



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Cuddles, F/F, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillyTweed/pseuds/GillyTweed
Summary: Gideon looks at her for a long moment, not speaking, then gets up and leaves. Harrow thinks she’s probably just going to bed, leaving her to work (something in the back of her mind thinks she was being judged and she failed the test)
Relationships: Gideon Nav & Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	Repose

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this fandom, but I have no intention of stopping here cause damn I love Gideon and Harrow. They're two very fucked up children and I want them to have nice things.

Harrow has been working far too much. Her hands are shaking, she can barely stand. She ignores it, of course. Why wouldn’t she? What good is she if she can’t push through her own fatigue. 

She’s just finishing up her review of the major nerve clusters in the body when Gideon comes in and kneels next to where she sits at her desk. Harrow is surprised to see her. It was like the space beside her had been empty, and then a blink and it was filled by her Cavalier. She liked to think she hid her shock well, but she wasn’t sure if she did considering she hadn’t even heard Gideon enter the room. 

Gideon looks at her for a long moment, not speaking, then gets up and leaves. Harrow thinks she’s probably just going to bed, leaving her to work (something in the back of her mind thinks she was being judged and she failed the test), but she comes back. A large shirt (that has to be Gideon’s, there’s no way Harrow has something that big), a bowl of water and a cloth, and a jar of cold cream.

Harrow is pretty sure she mumbles “Griddle” but is quickly shushed as her chair is turned (one handed and with very little effort. How fucking strong was Gideon?) to face her Cavalier.

The shirt is set aside and Harrow can only sigh as Gideon begins taking her face paint off. First she slathers some cold cream across Harrow’s cheeks and brow. It feels cold, a little slimy, but the water she damps the cloth with is warm.

She doesn’t protest. There’s a look in Gideon’s eyes, a glint that warns her not to object. So she doesn’t despite the small stab of panic at her paint being stripped away and Gideon’s eyes seeing her uncovered skin.

Once the paint’s gone and her face prickles with the sensation of cooling water, Gideon sets the cloth aside and grabs the shirt. She lays it across her knees and reaches for the ties that keep Harrow's outer layer of robes in place. She pauses, looking up like she’s asking for permission.

Harrow swallows her panic, and something else, and nods.

Gideon begins stripping her, later by layer. From her expression, Harrow can see as her thoughts become _‘how many fucking layers do you wear?’_

The answer to that is a lot. As a necromancer, her body didn’t generate or hold heat very well thanks to having nearly no muscle mass or fat reserves.

Finally, down to her undershirt and leggings, with shivers starting to rattle her frame, Gideon holds up the shirt. With just a tilt of an eyebrow, _‘how do you want to do this, my necrotic mistress (or some other banal nickname)?’_ came across loud and clear.

With a shuddering sigh, Harrow grabbed the shirt and shoved at Gideon’s face with a shivering hand. Despite barely putting enough pressure to crush a fly, let alone move a person, Gideon let herself tilt backwards with a rough laugh. She fell back onto the floor and flung an arm over her eyes, giving Harrow privacy to change.

She rolled her eyes. While her lip curled on one side, she would deny to Dominicus and back that she ever found anything Gideon did amusing.

Still shivering, she struggled a little to wrestle herself out of her undershirt, but the night shirt fell easily over her body, the fabric falling in curtains around her. 

It smelled... soft. Which made no sense in regards to the human senses. The fabric itself was worn, near threadbare, but that means it had been worked to the point of feeling like the smoothest silk.

Sighing, she debated taking off her leggings. The thought mortified her but also they were stiff from blood sweat and certainly needed a wash. Swallowing, she shucked them off, debated throwing them at Gideon’s head, then thought better of it as she realized the opportunities for innuendo that would provide.

“Griddle,” she mumbled, voice hoarse, still stuck with something that she didn’t want to spend energy identifying in that moment. 

Gideon sat up. A testament to her fitness as she used neither of her arms to prop herself up or even their momentum to aid her.

Now with Gideon watching, she instinctively curled into herself. Instantly her mind went to the excuse of being cold, but that would also show weakness. The only way to avoid showing said weakness had been not to curl up at all, and she’d rightly botched that.

Gideon didn’t seem to notice, instead standing up and stretching. It was only then Harrow noticed she was also in her night clothes. Face stripped of paint, a tank top (that pulled up to reveal perfectly symmetrical abdominal muscles) and a pair of light cotton pants. All in black of course.

“Alright, my Lady of the Night, time for bed.” Gideon said, the first thing she’d said beyond a quick shush and a laugh this whole exchange, then bent and _picked up Harrow like she was some infant._

“Griddle!” She yelped, then clung to her Cavalier’s shoulders as she was tossed up a bit, Gideon readjusting her grip. 

“Bed time!” Gideon singsonged, her irritating grin stretched across her face. Then she began walking, heading towards their bedroom.

“Put me down, you idiot!” Harrow said.

“Nope,” Said the idiot.

Harrow tried to pound a fist against Gideon’s Brachial Plexus, the network of nerves that allowed feeling and movement in the arm, but she was tired. Her hands were shaking and instead of a hit it was more like a gentle pat.

Acknowledging her defeat, she slumped in Gideon’s arms and sulked. She tried again, clawing at the nerve bundle, when she heard Gideon chuckle, which only made the chuckle louder.

“Oh calm down, Sleeping won’t kill you.” Gideon said as she put Harrow on the large four poster bed with surprising gentleness. “It’s like two in the morning. Sleep time.”

Harrow sighs, arms crossed and not looking at Gideon as her covers are pulled up to her shoulders. She’d stayed up for days at a time. Two in the morning was nothing.

With her mission accomplished and her Necromancer in bed, Gideon turned towards her own bed at the foot of the four-poster, but paused when Harrows hand snagged her shirt hem.

Harrow didn’t look up, hoping the darkness hid the burning red on her cheeks. “Stay...” after a moment she added “please.”

If she’d been looking, she would have seen Gideon soften, tension draining from her frame and a look in her eyes that could be almost compared to fondness. 

“Sure,” was her answer, then Gideon rounded the other side of the bed and climbed in.

Harrow expected Gideon to lay on her side of the bed and simply go to sleep, but of course it was Gideon, her Griddle, who was the most disobedient person known to the universe. So she did the opposite of expected and settled in pressed up against Harrow’s back.

There’s tension for a moment, then as one they both seemed to sigh and melt into each other, like two lit candles pressed together. Gideon’s arm found its way over Harrow’s waist, curling gently to hold her close. Harrow simply relaxed, leeching the warmth of her Cavalier and letting her eyes slide shut.

“G’night.” Gideon mumbled, forehead pressed into the back of Harrow’s neck.

“Goodnight, Gideon,” She mumbled, her own arm subconsciously laying over the one on her waist.


End file.
